Return of Saturn
by rogue76
Summary: This is my take on what happens after the events of the season 1 finale. After they left us hanging like that...I just HAD to write this. The title refers to the time in your life when the planet Saturn returns to the degree in its orbit occupied at the time of your birth, a harbinger to a new phase of your life. In this case, Abbie's and her relationship with Ichabod.
1. Chapter 1

Ichabod opened his eyes slowly, the intense pounding in his head making him wary of what he would encounter, but there was nothing to see save darkness. The smell of pungent dark earth filled his nose. The last thing he remembered, he had been thrown into an unmarked grave by Henry Parrish, his erstwhile son, Jeremy. He could still see the cold, dead look on his son's face as he threw him into the coffin, saying only, "Goodbye, Father."

Ichabod took a shaky breath, trying to keep his horror at bay. The vines that snaked around his legs and torso did not allow him much movement. He could not even reach into his coat pocket to retrieve Miss Mills' "smartphone" and use it to call for aid. He was well and truly trapped; a prisoner. The absolute misery and hopelessness of his situation overcame him then and pure panic set his heart pounding. He struggled for a while, screaming for help and trying to kick the box apart, but eventually, his voice hoarse and his lungs screaming for air, he quieted. Tears of frustration had dried on his face and he realized that he had expended a great deal of energy and gotten exactly nowhere. It was much more logical to conserve his energy and wait for rescue, if he could only wrest control from his fear.

However, as he lay there, trying to keep his hysteria in check, he noticed the air around him began to feel thick and dense and soon after, it was much harder to pull it into his lungs. Its damp, cloying smell made him nauseous and he found it hard to swallow. Instantly, Ichabod knew what was happening and that even if someone miraculously ever found him, they would likely not arrive in time. He was too weak and the air too thin.

_This is how I will die_, he thought. _I survived 250 years underground without incident only to be buried alive in 2013._

Surely, the earth was pressing down upon the pine coffin, snuffing the air out as easily as one might blow out a candle. Momentarily, he considered one last assault on the box, but in the end, he decided against it. He was fighting against too much: the strength of the box itself and the hundreds of pounds of soil above him. Only Atlas himself would have been able to lift such a burden.

Ichabod turned his head to the left and sighed. He was done fighting. As he had told Miss Mills not long ago, he had fit more living into his life than any one man deserved. He was ready for his eternal rest and would rather go to it peacefully and with some dignity instead of railing against the inevitable.

"_'__Tomorrow do thy worst, for I have lived today_,'" he said softly, reciting a line from one of his father's favorite poems. His voice hitched slightly at the end, but otherwise he was able to maintain his composure.

As he lay there, his breathing growing more and more labored, he could not stop Miss Mill's beautiful face from entering his mind. Indeed, she was always in his mind in some way; if not at the forefront then drifting about in the shadows, ever his companion. Were it not for her, he would have never been able to navigate this strange new world he had found himself inhabiting. He would have been lost and most likely thought truly insane. A fresh tear slipped down his cheek at the thought of her and he felt his heart seize, cracking like an eggshell. He had promised her he would come back for her, and now, due to his foolishness at not recognizing Henry for who he truly was and his selfish desire to rescue Katrina, he had condemned Miss Mills to eternity in Purgatory. He hated himself for it. The taste of it was bitter in his mouth and burned his throat.

Ichabod closed his eyes, more tears streaming down his face. "I beg your forgiveness, Miss Mills," he said, his voice broken. "I did not expect us to be so soon parted and will forever miss your company, for I hold it quite dear. If I had the ability, I would do everything in my power to set you free from your torment, damn the consequences to me."

His pronouncement finished, he silently begged God to somehow keep her safe in Purgatory, but knew it was a useless prayer. How could she ever be safe with Moloch? He had wanted her soul all this time and now he had it. Ichabod knew Moloch would never release her willingly.

"I do not deserve eternal…rest in the elysian fields of heaven," he said sadly, barely able to get the words out due to the lack of air. "Not when I have committed…such a sin against…my partner. I am ready…to accept my judgment."

He couldn't prevent himself from wishing that he would be sent to Purgatory for his sins and perhaps he would be able to find the Lieutenant. Perchance they would be allowed to be together. Spending eternity in Purgatory with her was preferable to living with the idea that he had betrayed her trust.

His breath ragged, he took one last sip of air then allowed himself to sink into the blackness and felt it rise up to overtake him. Miss Mill's sweet face was his only escort as he was swallowed up by the abyss of death.

For what seemed like a long time, he just floated in that obsidian nothingness like a feather in the wind – only there was no wind; there was nothing. No other thoughts passed through his mind, no fears or worries or hopes or dreams. There was a keen absence of anything of any import and in an odd way, he found it peaceful.

Ichabod wasn't sure when his heart stopped beating for he felt no pain of any kind. In truth, he felt nothing. He could no longer feel the coffin pressing in on him or the vines that held his body prisoner. The pressure of hundreds of pounds of earth above him was gone. He had the odd sense that his body, or perhaps his soul, had somehow escaped – slipped through the cracks – and was far away from that wretched little coffin.

He drifted that way for he knew not how long because time ceased to have any meaning to him. But eventually, he became aware again of the sensation of having a body – of being IN a body. And he was certain that body was lying on the ground; not in the coffin, but on the actual ground. He could feel the damp ground pressing into his clothes. It was a strange feeling, because for so long he had sworn he had been almost bodiless and to be thrust back into his physical form was a bit painful and almost unwanted.

Soon after, Ichabod noted that he could breathe fully and deeply. There was no pressure on his lungs any longer, nothing but ease of movement, although the air did seem to possess a strange quality. Ichabod couldn't quite place it, but he knew he had smelled it in the past.

Realizing that he now most likely had eyes again with which to see, Ichabod opened them slowly, looking around. The blackness receded like the tide and he found his vision was blurry. Ichabod rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself slowly and unsteadily to his feet, rubbing his eyes gingerly. The first thing he could make out was a dark forest surrounding him. It was filled with foreboding mists and gloomy moans and cries. Sadly, this was familiar. It was the same forest he had found Miss Mills in after both of them had passed Purgatory's tests of faith and loyalty. A vile place, it was; full of tortured souls in various states of disrepair. Some were disabled, missing different limbs or afflicted with ghastly wounds. Others were dragging huge chains or keys or weights around after them. But the worst of the lot were the ones mired in the very ground of Purgatory itself, stepped over and around and on by all the others. These were the truly forgotten, the forsaken and the lost and their faces showed their awful pain as they cried out for relief. Ichabod looked at them with pity, for he knew that what they were really craving was to be remembered and it was the one thing they would be forever denied. That was their punishment.

The thought of Miss Mills staying in this place for one more moment chilled him to the bone and turned his stomach upside-down, for she had done nothing for which to be punished. Instead, she had chosen to remain here; sacrificed herself on the altar of her distrust of him under the guise of saving humanity. He had not acknowledged it at the time, but he knew that she had offered to stay in Purgatory because she was afraid it was the decision _he_ would have made even though he had promised her otherwise. What scared him was that, given the chance, he was not sure what choice he would have made, and that made him hate himself. Miss Mills was his fellow Witness, but Katrina was his wife. Was his duty not to her? But then, what was his duty to Miss Mills? God had set them on this journey together. Did not God's heavenly edict take precedence over any vow that a mere mortal could make?

Ichabod found his feelings too confused and entangled to find his way to the correct path at that moment. All he knew was that he had to find the Lieutenant and if he _had_ died, then perhaps he could take her place and send her back to the world of the living where she belonged. He should never have let her remain here in the first place. It had been immensely selfish of him and Ichabod was unsure how he would ever be able to make things right with her again, but at that moment he vowed to spend eternity trying.

A terrible scream pierced his thoughts and he wheeled around to his right; certain that was the direction from which it had come. That scream had been full of terror and he could have sworn it was Miss Mills who had made that sound.

"Miss Mills!" he shouted into the inky darkness of Purgatory's forest. "Are you here?"

Ichabod received no reply and decided there was nothing he could do but go in the direction of the noise. He began walking, careful to avoid the other denizens of this place and tried to pass by as unnoticed as was possible. The strange yet familiar scent of this placed wafted to him again, but still he could not place it, despite his unfaltering recall. It was like a dream, close to his fingertips yet ever elusive.

Another scream cut through the murk and Ichabod was now positive that it _was_ the Lieutenant. He broke into a run, his heart banging against his ribs. But the instant his legs stretched out into full stride, he was freefalling and then hit dead in the face with something so hard that he was momentarily stunned and dazed. Ichabod saw stars before his eyes and shut them quickly, trying to blot out the pain that had bloomed in his head.

When he regained control of his faculties, he realized that somehow, he was no longer standing but lying face down on the floor; not the ground of the forest, but the floor of a house. Opening his eyes, Ichabod turned his head to the right and saw a cream wall with words scrawled on it in blood-red: DON'T GET SCARED.

The next thing his eyes focused on were blue curtains billowing against the wall, only something was wrong, for the curtains were drawn ON the wall, not actual cloth hanging from rods. Ichabod almost felt as though he were in a story book he had read as a child.

This whole place felt all wrong to him and he stumbled to his feet, swaying when he got there, his head pounding a steady rhythm. Everywhere he looked, he saw only shadows and loneliness; despair seemed to hang in the air the way adornments should have. The hair on the back of his neck went up and he knew only that this house was not a refuge of any kind. It felt more like a prison. What _was_ this place?

Suddenly, a huge bang resounded through the house like an echo through a canyon and he flinched; looking for cover of any kind. Instinct told him to make himself as small as possible and hide. Before he had time to find a spot, a voice that he only heard in his nightmare visions filled the emptiness of the sad house.

"YOU WILL BE MINE AGAIN! Yield to me now and I will show mercy!"

Moloch.

Ichabod could tell that his voice was coming from the other room. Moloch was not talking to him, but someone else. He moved to the wall and pressed himself against it, inching along slowly. He was almost to the doorway when he heard the voice he had been afraid he never would again.

"I was NEVER yours."

Miss Mills. Her voice was quiet and lacked the booming resonance of Moloch's, however it was resolute and determined, though laced with melancholy. Ichabod peeked around the corner and thought his heart would stop at what he saw. Moloch was holding the Lieutenant frighteningly high above him, his claws cutting right through her leather jacket and into her shoulder. Rivulets of blood coursed a path down her arm, dripping onto the ground, sizzling with each drop. Ichabod was filled with such dread for her that he became very dizzy and barely stopped himself from calling out to her. He wanted to run to her aid, but somehow he knew that he had to remain hidden. If Moloch knew that the two Witnesses had been reunited, he would never allow them to find a way out.

"Resign your soul to me and I will give you what you most desire."

Moloch's voice was not as loud or frightening as before, but somehow, the sereneness of it made it even more threatening.

Miss Mills looked down at his blurry yet massive form and she did not seem to be afraid, though her eyes were red and her face ghastly pale. A single tear slipped down her cheek.

"Even _you_ cannot do that, Moloch," she said sadly, seemingly unaffected by the pain in her shoulder. It appeared to Ichabod that there was an emotional pain that was eclipsing all else. "I know my destiny: to be alone. I've finally accepted it. Have you accepted yours?"

Moloch shrieked, and in a rage flung her across the room as easily as one might throw a ragdoll. She crashed into the wall with a sickening thud and crumpled into a heap on the floor, unmoving.

Ichabod could barely stop himself from running to her, but knew he could not do so while Moloch was still there. The demon could not know that Ichabod had returned to Purgatory, or all hope of rescue and escape would be lost.

Moloch turned slowly to face Miss Mills' prostrate form and took two loud, crackling steps towards her, his horns aimed low, and for a sickening instant, Ichabod was certain he was about to charge her. His blurred form flickered in and out of sight, and he was apparently unconcerned with her motionless state.

"You shall _never_ know my mercy," he said softly, the gentle tone of his voice disturbing and out of place. Ichabod knew he meant it to be a threat, but it sounded more like the pronouncement of a sentence; a promise of things to come.

Then with one last flicker, he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Ichabod wasted not one moment and sprinted to Miss Mills' side, chest heaving, heart stricken with intense worry. Gently, he turned her over onto her back and was dismayed at the sight of her. She had only been in Purgatory for a few hours, but if he hadn't known better, he would have sworn on his life that it had been weeks. Her cheeks were gaunt and hollow and her skin was terribly pale. Her shoulder had a deep gash that was still bleeding and she had a nasty bruise on her left temple, most likely from hitting the wall, but upon closer inspection, Ichabod found older bruises on her arms, as well. Her upper lip was chapped and scabbed over and the bottom one was split open anew.

"Lieutenant…please awaken," he said softly, pushing her hair away from her face. He looked around for something to use to put pressure on her wound but there was nothing. In the end, he could only use his hand to try and staunch the flow of blood. He pulled her closer to him gently, cradling her in his lap, and noticed that she seemed thinner. It didn't seem possible and yet, Ichabod was certain that she had lost weight since he had left her here hours before. He cursed himself for the hundredth time for what his choice – or inability to make a choice – had done to her.

A pained moan slipped from between her lips and she brought her hand up to her head gingerly. "That…hurt," she said slowly.

"Miss Mills, are you gravely injured?" he asked, gently pulling her hand away from the dreadful bruise on her temple while trying to maintain the pressure on her shoulder.

She froze at his words and looked up at him, eyes wide. Ichabod held still as she stared at him, into the very depths of his soul, it seemed. The longer she looked but said nothing, the more he started to entertain the notion that all of this was a dream. In the time he had known Miss Mills, he had never known her to be silent for so long. He was about to say something, when he noticed that she had begun shaking – shaking all over. Tears welled in her brown, red-rimmed eyes but did not fall.

"Lieutenant…"

In mere seconds, she had scurried away from him and was apparently trying to melt into the wall, shaking still. Ichabod knew she had to be feeling the discomfort of her injuries now, for she had not tried to stand and get away from him. He tried again.

"Miss Mills, please listen to me. I am here to help—"

"YOU don't get to talk!" she hissed, cutting him off, her voice low and dangerous. "YOU are not…_him_," she accused, her words breaking off as a sob escaped in a rush. Still shaking, she looked past him, her eyes scanning feverishly about the room. At long last, her gaze rested on him, once again, but it was one of dismissal and disgust. "You can't trick me, Moloch."

Ichabod was suddenly nauseous. She believed him to be Moloch – some phantom vision concocted by the demon? What dreadful things had Moloch been doing to her while he was gone? Had Moloch been using Ichabod's countenance to try and seduce the Lieutenant into handing over her soul? The thought chilled him to the bone.

"Lieutenant, your shoulder has been injured. You are bleeding. Take a few moments to collect yourself and you will see the truth."

She looked down at her shoulder and grimaced as she tried to move it. "Dammit," she breathed, the curse slipping from her lips angrily. She brought her hand up to cover the wound and looked away from him, off to the left, her brow furrowed. "Girls!" she shouted, her voice high and reedy, close to the edge of hysteria. Her body had not stopped shaking and he could not tell if it was from cold or fear or pain or some other reason altogether. "Girls, you can come out now!"

"I'm right here! Who are you bloody talking to?" Ichabod bellowed, his patience having withered away. She was bleeding profusely.

Abbie flinched and moved even further away, eyeing him as though he were a rabid animal.

Frustrated that she still did not see him for who he truly was – did not trust him – Ichabod reached his hand out to her. She looked at it suspiciously. In truth, what had he been expecting? He had allowed her to take Katrina's place and abandoned her in Purgatory to battle Moloch alone. Did he really believe she would smile and laugh and tell him all was well?

"Miss Mills, _please_ believe me. It IS me. Please let me help you."

He hoped his simple plea would somehow reach her for he was at a loss as to how else he could persuade her.

She looked at him, her head crooking sideways, and he could tell that she was fighting a war against herself. Her shaking had not abated and now it intensified and the tears that had not fallen before spilled onto her cheeks. "Please, girls," she half-whispered, half-sobbed. "I need your help."

Ichabod felt so sorry for Miss Mills in that moment. What had happened in the few hours he had been gone that had erased all of her trust in him? Except, of course, for the small matter of him leaving her in Purgatory to fend for herself while he took his wife back to the mortal world?

He was about to try and talk to her again, when he noticed that Miss Mills' gaze was now directed at a point beyond him. She sighed. "There you are," she said, the relief in her voice apparent. "Jenny, can you find me something to hold against this?" she asked, pointing to her shoulder.

Ichabod snapped his head around in the direction she was looking the moment he heard her say Miss Jenny's name. How in the world could Jenny also be in Purgatory?

However, all he saw was a young girl dressed in what he could only imagine was a school uniform of some kind: white shirt under a grey sweater, tartan skirt, and black shoes. The whole attire seemed familiar to Ichabod, though he knew not why, but he knew he SHOULD know. His eidetic memory gave him no excuses. He turned back to Miss Mills, whose shaking seemed to have abated in some small measure.

"Miss Mills, why have you called this young girl by your sister's name?"

And then it hit him: he had seen that young girl before! In the Lieutenant's dream vision when she had battled the Sandman. This girl was the younger version of Miss Jenny. But how and why was she here, in Purgatory? If she was here, where was the current form of Miss Mills' sister? The girl stared at him with eyes as wide as a doe that had stumbled upon a hunter and stood frozen in place.

"Come on, Jenny, it's okay. Come here." The Lieutenant's voice was unsteady and raspy and Ichabod knew it had to be from the pain of her wound.

Ichabod watched as Jenny swallowed hard and then took a step forward. He immediately put his hands up, trying to seem as harmless as possible. She raced past him and over to the Lieutenant, kneeling down next to her. Jenny produced a piece of cloth from her pocket and held it on Abbie's shoulder.

"Push hard," Miss Mills instructed through gritted teeth. Jenny did so, and Abbie cried out, squeezing her eyes shut.

Ichabod was on his feet in an instant and scrambled over to them, his eyes wild with worry. The Lieutenant's eyes snapped open and her look was one of blatant hatred. Jenny's eyes went wide and he could tell she wanted to bolt, but something kept her tethered to Abbie's side.

"Get the hell away from us, you bastard," she seethed. "You think that just cause you look like…_him_…that I'm just gonna hand over my soul? Aren't you tired of that game already? Why don't you just finish me off instead? You had your chance before and you didn't take it…I wish you had."

Ichabod's eyes softened and he sank slowly to the ground. He reached out his hand again, palm up, this time. "Please believe me, Miss Mills. I am not Moloch, though I deserve your contempt as much as he for what I have done. But at this moment, I only wish to help you."

Abbie ignored his hand and looked at him – really looked at him, this time – and he thought that he might have gotten through a chink in her armor. Her breathing began to quicken. "Ok, I'll play along. If you're really Crane, what did I bring you the first morning at the motel?"

Ichabod let his hand fall to his side. He knew this would be his only chance to convince her of his true character. He had to get everything right – say just things perfectly. "They were a lovely pastry that I believe you called 'donut holes.'"

Abbie nodded but did not seem totally convinced. Beside her, Jenny watched her reactions carefully and Ichabod knew that Abbie's verdict on his identity would be Jenny's, as well. With effort and using her good arm, the Lieutenant pushed herself up into a more upright position and chewed on her bottom lip.

"Okay, last question. This'll be your only chance to claim your 'get out of jail free' card. Ready? What did you do…after you burned the map to Purgatory?"

Ichabod swallowed dryly. Why had she chosen that particular memory to test him? Was it because she somehow knew it was the only time he had not been totally forthcoming with her? At the time, he had meant every word he said to Miss Mills about forging their fates together, but later, in his lonely cabin, the thought of Katrina trapped forever in Purgatory and the guilt he felt for her being there had overwhelmed him.

He sighed bitterly and looked into her eyes. What he saw there was an odd mixture of pain and hope. He knew the answer, but he wished he could explain to her the nature of the impetus behind his actions. In the end, he simply said the words.

"I drew another."

Those words seemed to hang in the air like a dark thundercloud ripe with lightning waiting to strike. He had not meant to betray her – would never betray her – and yet he had. The force of that realization hit him hard; a sucker-punch in the midsection. Ichabod's only thought was to try and apologize for what he had done; how he had forsaken her.

"Miss Mills, please accept my apologies-"

"It's really you?" Abbie cut him off, letting out a breath he hadn't realized she had been holding. Her voice was small and wounded, but her gaze was not as hard as before.

Ichabod nodded and reached his hand out one last time, rising to one knee. "It is. Now will you please allow me to help you tend to your wound?"

But a third time, Abbie ignored his proffered hand and turned to look at the younger Jenny and attempted a small smile. She put her right hand on the girl's shoulder. "It's okay, Jenny. It's really him. I'm sure of it. Moloch would never have admitted that last part. Go and get your sister. It's safe."

Ichabod winced at her words and what they implied and his open hand clenched into a fist. He had hurt her very deeply, and some part of him had known it when he did it, but that hadn't seemed as important as rescuing Katrina at the time. But now…here…in Purgatory, with Miss Mills bloody and wounded before him, he could not imagine a moment when hurting her would be of no consequence to him.

Jenny said nothing. She merely nodded and handed the cloth she had been using as a compress to Abbie and slinked past Ichabod as quickly as she could, disappearing into the shadows of the house. Ichabod watched her go and rose to his feet. There were a thousand queries in his mind, but he did not voice them. He turned back to Abbie and saw that she was holding the cloth against her shoulder wound, her eyes shut tight in pain. Sweat dotted her forehead and she was shaking again, and this time, he was certain that agony was the cause, but if pressed, he would not have been able to determine with absolute certainty if its nature was merely physical.

"Lieutenant, may I please assist you? You must be suffering."

Abbie's eyes opened slowly and he noted they were a bit glazed. She was slumped against the wall and reminded him of a cut rose, wilting in front of his eyes. "I can take care of myself, Crane. Been doing it my whole life," she said.

Though he knew she said it to sound brave and nonchalant, Ichabod found it to be one of the saddest things he'd ever heard. He hated that she felt her existence was so solitary, but wasn't that what she had told Moloch earlier? Had she not said that she had finally accepted that her destiny was to be alone? And had she not stated that even Moloch could not give her that which she truly desired? Ichabod wondered what that something was.

He crossed the small distance between them and knelt beside her and knew he would give his last breath to change her destiny. She said nothing, simply looked up at him with huge eyes filled to overflowing with a myriad of questions:

_Why did you leave me here?_

_Why did you choose Katrina over me?_

_How could you betray me?_

The last question he imagined she was asking hurt the most, because he did not have an answer for it. He touched her cheek gently and she stilled instantly, like a wild thing would.

"I am so very sorry, Miss Mills," he said softly. "I should never have allowed you to remain here. I have cursed myself a thousand times over for doing so."

She broke their gaze and looked off into the dark recesses of the house and shrugged. "It's done now. Besides, you didn't make the choice. I did."

Ichabod was a bit stunned by the sudden and severe change in her personality and temperament. Her usually bright spirit was dulled and broken and her eyes had lost their spark. The words she spoke were short and clipped and held no emotion. He had only ever known her to be bursting with life and her voice full of honesty and fervor. Surely this was a symptom of being in Purgatory? He could not bear the thought that she was forever changed due to his own selfish actions.

Inching closer to her, Ichabod tentatively reached out and covered the hand that was over her wound with his own. Her eyes snapped back to him the moment she felt the contact and she reached up to move his hand away.

"Please, Lieutenant. I only want to help you," he said, his voice supple and smooth with sincerity. "Let me do this small thing for you."

Her eyes filled abruptly with tears, her bottom lip trembling, but she did not push his hand away again. Instead, she sat still and allowed him to hold the cloth against her shoulder wound. He noted that the bleeding had slowed in some measure and for that, he was thankful.

"Why are you here, Crane? You're not supposed to be here."

Her words cut through the inky silence of the doll house, echoing down its lonely halls. Ichabod looked at her, thinking he had never met a braver woman in his entire life. Here she was, trapped in Purgatory, and she was worried about his safety.

"I am not certain as to how I came to be here," he finally said, unwilling to tell her about the coffin and Jeremy.

She looked at him sideways and was about to say something else when another voice stopped her.

"She was hiding again."

Ichabod looked to where the voice was coming from and was not surprised to see that Jenny had returned. However, what he was surprised to see was the girl beside her. They were holding hands, and he got the distinct impression that Jenny was holding her there; keeping her from running. She was dressed in the same school uniform, but was slightly shorter. Her face was tight with fear, eyes wide.

_Abbie._

Ichabod knew that this was the young Abbie they had also encountered in their fight against the Sandman. The Abbie whose entire existence was ruled by fear and so it made sense that she had been hiding.

"What were you hiding from?" the Lieutenant asked the young girl.

"Moloch," Young Abbie answered and then pointed right at Ichabod, her hand shaking. "And him."

"Moloch's gone for now, Abbie. Besides, he wants me, not you. You're just a memory." Miss Mills then looked from her younger self to Ichabod and snickered. "And don't worry about this one. He won't hurt you. Besides, he won't be staying long. I don't even know why he's here to begin with…"

She trailed off and Ichabod could see her mind working; puzzling out the problem. The girls had not moved from their spot. They seemed to be waiting for direction from Miss Mills. Ichabod did not want her to discover the reason for his appearance. It would only upset her and he wished to never hurt her again.

"I believe your wound has stopped bleeding," he said, hoping to distract her.

Abbie shook her head and held her hand up, effectively stopping him from saying anything else. "Wait a minute, why ARE you here? How did you get here?"

He refused to look at her. "I've already told you that I have no memory of how I came to be here."

"Mr. Photographic Memory can't remember? I don't think so, Crane. Did Katrina somehow send you here?"

He shook his head. "The how and why are not important, Lieutenant. What matters is that I AM here and you are no longer alone and I will not allow Moloch to hurt you again."

Abbie frowned and then did push his hand away from her shoulder and managed to get to her feet, swaying a bit. She put her good arm against the wall for support, her breathing a bit labored. "No it IS important, Crane. You weren't supposed to come back. I knew that when I said I'd stay. So why are you here? There's got to be a reason."

Ichabod was shocked. "You did not believe I would return for you?"

Abbie looked at him with a confused expression. "Of course not."

Ichabod felt like his heart was being squeezed in a woodworker's vice. She truly never believed he would come back for her? "But Miss Mills, you told me that you knew I would return for you. You were being dishonest?"

She rolled her eyes. "Come on, Crane. How _could_ you return? Katrina and I exchanged places. The only way I was going back was if she came back here. I knew you'd never let that happen."

The Lieutenant looked away from him, absently holding her wounded shoulder. "She's your wife and you love her. I'm just the cop who sprung you from the mental hospital. Pretty easy choice to make, right?"

Ichabod regarded her then, this woman who would have been totally overlooked and disregarded in his time. A brave soldier who soldiered on and tried to help everyone she met, despite all the pain she had suffered in her life. An amazing spirit who was able to look past the insanity of his story and find the real man behind it and give him the opportunity to prove his irrational claims. How had he treated such a rare being? He had abandoned her for his own selfish reasons with barely a second thought and now he would give his very soul to take that decision back.

He swallowed his agony and was about to try and convince her of the truth of their relationship when she nodded, apparently taking his silence for agreement.

"That's what I thought," she said, looking slightly surprised that he had agreed with her, but she recovered quickly. "So I'm gonna ask you again: why are you here?"


	3. Chapter 3

Before he could answer, the girls stepped forward in unison and motioned for Abbie to come closer to them. Abbie did so slowly, her gait wobbly and unsure. Ichabod watched as they both leaned up on their tiptoes, their mouths close to her ear, and spoke in hushed tones. The longer they whispered, the bigger Abbie's eyes got and he saw her breathing quicken. At one point, she gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

Finally, when the girls were done, Miss Mills took a shuddering breath. "There's got to be something I can do?" she asked them.

They were silent for a few moments and then began speaking again, but their voices were too low for Ichabod to make out anything they were saying.

When they finally finished, Abbie nodded, her face solemn. "I understand," she said softly.

She turned back to Ichabod. "So…I missed some crucial plot points, huh?"

Ichabod did not understand her meaning and thought it best to remain silent.

She sighed, obviously exasperated with him. "Look, I know about Jeremy…and the coffin. Weren't planning on telling me, were you?"

He stepped closer to her; close enough to touch. "No because it is of no consequence now, Miss Mills. I am dead. But at least we are here together. I can stand with you against Moloch."

Abbie straightened her posture and drew herself up as tall as she could. She leaned in close to him and he felt something awaken between them. It was their connection; their bond. It had sprung to life not long after they had met and it seemed that even in Purgatory where Death had reign, it still lived.

"You're not dead, Ichabod. Not yet," she said, her voice calm and even with certainty. "The girls told me how I can help you. Give you a boost in a way."

Ichabod was confused as to her meaning and had no idea how she thought she could save him when he had already died.

"Miss Mills, I hesitated to tell you this for fear of upsetting you, but I AM dead. The earth above the coffin was too heavy and I remember it pressing down on me. I remember not being able to breathe and giving in to the darkness."

She crossed her arms; the picture of defiance. "I don't care what you remember. You're not dead; end of story. The girls told me so."

"Did you not call those…apparitions 'memories'? What would they know of life and death?" he asked.

Abbie turned and looked back at the girls and shrugged. "They might have started off as just memories, but they're something more now. They know things and I trust what they've told me."

Ichabod sighed and clasped his hands behind his back. "And pray tell, what did they tell you?"

"They told me that you are CLOSE to death, but not dead and that there is a way for me to give you some more time to last until you are found. If there's a chance of it working, I've got to try, Crane. One of us has to get out of here and beat Moloch."

He moved a step closer to her, his blue eyes solemn. "Miss Mills, if it means you must stay here, then I would rather die and remain with you. You are here because of my selfish actions."

She looked up at him, a sad ghost of a smile on her lips. "Crane, my whole life I felt like life was pointless; that MY life was pointless. What was I living for? Why were Jenny and I born into a family that couldn't care for us? Why did our father run off? Why were we given a mother whose mind was too wrecked to let her be a mother to us? Then Moloch happened and nothing made sense anymore. But for the first time, Crane, I feel like I know the purpose of my life. When we first realized we were Witnesses, I thought that was my purpose. But I was wrong…"

Ichabod reached out and took her hand gently, wary of her injured shoulder. His eyes were shining with tears, "Miss Mills, surely you don't believe your purpose is to die? To forfeit your life?"

Abbie smiled softly and took a step towards him, allowing her hand to stay in his. She was now close enough that Ichabod could have reached out and pulled her into an embrace - if he had the courage. He could feel that special something crackling between them – even here, in Purgatory – like the embers of a fire. He felt a sweet nervousness flutter to life in his stomach; a thousand butterflies taking off at once. Of all the times he had been in battle and faced dangerous opponents, nothing scared him as much as this seemingly diminutive and devastatingly beautiful woman before him. She was so unlike any woman he had ever met and though they had only known each other for a short time, he could no longer imagine his life without her beside him.

"Ichabod, I don't see it as a forfeit," she said, her use of his first name alerting him to the fact that she felt that what she was saying was extremely important. "Forfeit implies a penalty or punishment. That's not what's going on here." She reached up and touched his cheek gently, her other hand still holding his. "I can't let you die. It's not gonna happen, not if I can help it. You have too much to do."

Ichabod felt mesmerized by her touch; trapped like a bird in a net. He could not have looked away from her eyes even if he had wanted to do so. He was certain he could drown in their chocolate brown depths forever and never miss another breath of air. Her very essence pulled at him the way the shore pulls the tide in each evening, and he was just as powerless as those frothywaves.

No other woman had ever had such an effect on him; not even Katrina. And if he was honest with himself, at this very moment, he could not fathom how the two of them had ended up in this predicament. How could he have abandoned Miss Mills here in this place that was a hair's breadth away from Heaven yet halfway to Hell without even looking back?

At the time, it had been so easy to allow Katrina and Miss Mills to exchange places on the off-chance that everything would be able to be righted in the end. He had pushed anything and everything he felt for the Lieutenant down into the dark recesses of his soul and walked away from her, because he finally had been reunited with Katrina. And that was all he had ever wanted, wasn't it? Was it not his duty as a husband to rescue his wife and give her a proper life? After all, she had been imprisoned in Purgatory for over two centuries. Surely any suffering that might befall him due to her rescue and his subsequent separation from Miss Mills was nothing compared to what Katrina had been through. He owed her his suffering – or so he had felt at the time. However, Miss Mills owed Katrina nothing, yet he had offered up hers alongside his. It seemed, they were always side by side in everything – even pain.

Ichabod closed his eyes in torment and cursed himself for being so oblivious to the workings of his own heart. But then his eyes snapped open, bright blue with resolve. He may have been unmindful of his feelings then, but he was unmindful no more. Everything with Katrina could be worked out at a later time. He had to find a way to convince the Lieutenant that this was not the correct course of action. Ichabod did not know if he could leave this place without her again.

"Miss Mills, I wish I could convince you of one truth: that I can accomplish nothing without you by my side." He did not add that he would be worthless without her or that he would otherwise feel incomplete.

Abbie's hand fell from his face and he felt as though he had been plunged into an icy river. He felt bereft without her touch; forsaken. She sat down at the plastic dollhouse's kitchen table and sighed, looking world-weary and so alone. He was shocked at the toll Purgatory had taken on her in such a short amount of time. He was almost certain that he could see the energy stolen from her as he stood there. The mere sight of her solitary silhouette made his heart seize in sorrow for her.

Although he was now aware that he had strong feelings for this unbelievably brave woman before him, he was not yet ready to make them known. His courage had suddenly deserted him; seemingly in the face of her own. So he focused on reminding her of the rules of the game.

"You are a Witness. Both Witnesses are needed to defeat Moloch. What will happen tomorrow when Moloch discovers I have become the lone soldier on the side of Good in this war?"

"'Tomorrow was made for _some_,' Crane," she said, sadness coloring her words for the first time. She ran her hands through her hair and rubbed her eyes. At long last, she looked up and gestured to the chair across from her.

"I fear I am at a loss as to your meaning, Miss Mills," he said, walking forward but opting to kneel before her, his hands clasped together, resting on her lap; the penitent worshiper. Moreover, the chair would have kept him too far away from her and Ichabod couldn't bear the thought at that moment. He was almost afraid that she would chastise him, telling him to get up, but she did not. Instead, she put her hands on his shoulders.

"It's from a song my mother used to listen to when I was young," she said gently. "It always made her cry and I never really understood why or what that song meant until now." She wiped an errant tear from her cheek and took a deep breath, seeming to fortify herself. "My meaning, Crane, was that not every soldier in every war gets to see the big victory. When the flag gets raised and everyone is cheering, there are lots of soldiers who fell on the battlefield and didn't make it to the end. But without them, that victory would not be possible. You should know what I'm talking about, because in an ironic twist...YOU were such a soldier."

Ichabod shook his head, his eyes blazing with anger. He reached up and took her hands from his shoulders, holding them tightly in his own. "No, Miss Mills! That shall not be you! I will not allow it. You will not be this war's celebrated martyr. You are my fellow Witness and I will not let you go so easily…not _again_."

He looked up to see if she had divined his meaning and by the fresh tear that ran down her cheek, he knew she had. The next thing he knew, she was in his arms, hugging him as though she would never see him again.

"I don't want you to feel bad about that, Crane," she whispered, her mouth against his ear. "You had no other choice but Katrina. I never expected you to choose me. I might have hoped for it, but I certainly didn't expect it. Now don't get me wrong. It still stung when you did it, but I knew it was coming; knew it from the second that Andy told me about the prophecy. I can't compete with Katrina. She's your soul mate; the love of your life. I'm just a Witness and somebody you've known for a little while. I think that's why I was so scared and upset and wanted you to destroy the map. I knew that when it came down to it, you would choose the person most important to you in the entire world. I was mad at first, but now I get it. I really do. She's your happily ever after. Besides, you needed her to try and stop War. You couldn't have known it was already too late."

Her words, meant to mollify, instead flayed his heart wide open and the pain of his mistake burned through him like a wildfire, leaving only ash and agony in its wake. He felt his own tears slipping down his cheeks and allowed himself the luxury of resting his head on her shoulder even though he did not deserve it. He could never remember feeling so safe in his entire life than when he was in her arms. How incredible that in Purgatory, he felt safe – simply because she was with him.

"It may be too late to stop Jeremy," he said finally, softly. "But it's not too late to save you, Miss Mills. I will rectify this situation and my error. As long as I am still breathing, I vow to do just that."

"That's where you're wrong, Crane," she said, stroking his head as if she were comforting a little boy.

Startled, he looked up at her. "Pardon?"

Abbie looked at him tenderly, but there was a fierce determination in her eyes. "It IS too late for me, but it's not too late to save YOU. Your soul is here with me right now, but your body is trapped in that pine box and I will not let you die. I just…can't."

She trailed off and he felt that she had stopped herself before she had stumbled headlong into some profound confession. Before he could ponder it further, she had collected herself enough to continue.

"Anyway, I'm gonna save you. That's MY vow. You can't save me if you're dead, can you? You can't defeat Moloch, either."

Ichabod pushed away and stood up, anger coloring his cheeks. "I cannot defeat Moloch without **you**!" _I am afraid I cannot live without you, either_, he added silently.

Abbie said nothing, but instead looked away and over at the younger memory-version of herself and Jenny and her breathing slowed; eyes faraway. Ichabod's gaze followed hers and he saw them sitting in the living room on the hard plastic couch, holding hands. Their school uniforms were pressed and perfect, but their eyes were haunted. He was certain he knew what Miss Mills saw when she looked at them: ghosts. They were the embodiment of the memories of what she and Miss Jenny had seen in the forest that day and how Moloch had besmirched their souls; marked them. Ichabod knew without a doubt that if she stayed here, this was her fate, as well: to become nothing more than a fractured image of a tortured memory that most would find better forgotten.

He looked back at Abbie and it seemed to him that she was already drifting away from him, pulled along by Purgatory's treacherous eddies; lulled into a dreamless sleep from which there is no awakening.

He walked back to her and grabbed both of her shoulders. "Miss Mills, please abandon this endeavor! It's as though I've lost you already!"

Abbie flinched and looked back to him, and her eyes were no longer glazed. She was back with him, it seemed; back from whatever dark place her soul had gone for those few moments. "It's okay, Crane. I'm still here," she said, patting him on the shoulder.

**_For now_**, was the unspoken addition to her statement and Ichabod swore he heard it whispered to him from Purgatory's cold shadows. He felt an icy chill skitter down his back and shivered. He looked around the dollhouse she seemed intent on making her new permanent residence and just the thought of her spending eternity trapped within its walls made him sick to his stomach. All for what purpose? For him? To keep him alive so he could be with Katrina? How did she think he could ever find happiness knowing what she had sacrificed for him to have the opportunity?

"You need to go," Abbie said, pulling him away from his thoughts. "Your time is running out. I only hope Jenny finds you in time."

Ichabod's brow crinkled. "Miss Jenny? How do you know-"

"I just _know _she'll find you, Crane," she said, cutting him off. "But you won't last if I don't help you – if I don't give you _my _strength."

"How do you even know that your plan will be successful?" he asked limply, feeling defeated.

Abbie hooked her thumb back towards the younger Jenny and Abbie. "_They_ told me about it. They said that if my intent is pure and I have no ulterior motive and I accept my fate of staying here, then I can give you all the mortal strength left in me. That should give you another few hours at least, maybe even 12, but…"

Crane bent down a bit to look in her eyes, brushing some hair away from her face. "There is a caveat?"

Abbie nodded, suddenly unable to look in his eyes. "Apparently, that strength is all that is tethering me to the mortal world. To life. Once I give it to you, I'll be cut loose."

"You'll die?!" Ichabod felt like someone had thrust a sword deep into his heart, and his breath left his lungs in a great rush. He was suddenly dizzy.

Abbie looked at him sideways, a sad smile on her face. She tried to laugh, but it came out as a sob. "I'm _already_ dead, Crane. This is Purgatory, not Cancun. I knew this was a one-way trip when I came to the island with you, because I knew you would choose Katrina. She was only able to leave here because I took her place. I knew you'd never let her go again, so there's no way for me to come back. This is it for me. Giving you my strength is just sealing the deal, you might say. At least this way, my life will have MEANT something. I'll no longer be the messed-up foster kid who let a demon ruin her life. I will have given my life for a greater cause and to keep you alive. That's all that matters to me."

Ichabod took a deep breath. "So are my wishes not to be taken into consideration, then?" His words were short and clipped but full of fury. "You have decided to give your life to save mine, which is very heroic and I am truly grateful, but just where does that set my fate? You are my fellow Witness. You were meant to weather the seven years of tribulation WITH me. I do not understand why you believed this to be a mission of suicide. I certainly never intended for you to stay in Purgatory."

"Crane—" Abbie started, but the wildfire that had burned through him earlier had been reignited by his anger and he could not be denied. He ranted on.

"And, pray tell, what will you provide me to help me survive the loss of your company? A flower to lay on your headstone? Your rallying final words? Your…memory?"

His voice broke on the last word and his gaze slipped away from her for a moment. He was unwilling to allow her to see him so weak with worry and misery at the thought of going on without her; of losing her. When he looked back, her eyes were soft and full of tears. He thought for a moment that he might have weakened her resolve, but then moments later, her eyes flashed and her granite wall was back in place.

"Ichabod, your wishes are exactly what I AM thinking about."

He looked at her, brow furrowed. When he spoke, his voice was soft, but there was an edge to it. "Would you care to enlighten me, please, how you believe that my wish is for you to die?"

She walked towards him again, and as soon as she was close enough to touch, he felt that mysterious attraction and he could not bring himself to move away, even though he was angry.

"Your _wish_ is to defeat Moloch and avert the apocalypse. Your _wish_, Ichabod, is to be reunited with Katrina and live your lives together – the destiny you were both robbed of so long ago. I truly understand that now. I guess I didn't before. So I can't stand in the way of that. All this time, all you've talked about is getting Katrina out of Purgatory. Well, she's out. She's back with you, Crane, and now this is your chance to get your happily ever after. She's the one you went to Purgatory for and faced a demon to save. Not me. I'm irrelevant."

Ichabod looked at her, his face a portrait of horror. "Miss Mills, there is folly in your logic. You do not-"

"I'm giving you that happily ever after," Abbie said, cutting him off mid-sentence by suddenly and shockingly pulling him down to press her lips to his in the sweetest, yet saddest kiss he had ever experienced.


	4. Chapter 4

Time seemed to stop altogether as their lips touched and he was sure he had never felt so connected to another human being in his strange and preternatural existence. He reached out and pulled her into his embrace, wrapping his arms around her tightly. She felt wonderful and perfect in his arms – as though he had been waiting his whole life to hold her. For a few moments, he allowed himself to be lost in the magic of their kiss and returned it. But then, the longer they kissed, the more certain Ichabod was that something else was happening between them. He could feel an energy passing from her to him that had nothing to do with emotions.

Or perhaps it had _everything_ to do with emotions. Hadn't Miss Mills mentioned something about her intentions needing to be pure if her foolish plan was to come to fruition? Instantly terrified, he pushed her away, then rubbed his fingers roughly across his lips, trying to erase what had taken place.

"What have you done?!" He was horrified that she was going to evaporate before his eyes.

But before Abbie could answer, her eyes rolled back in her head and she fell to the ground like a petal from a flower. Ichabod managed to get to her before her head hit and eased her gently down onto the floor, tears filling his vision.

"What have you done? What have you done?" he whispered, his words a shadow of their earlier fervor, dread choking his throat with an iron grip.

His hands fluttered over her face and body uselessly even as he could still feel remnants of that energy stinging his lips. He also felt different, effused with strength. Powerful. Briefly, he thought of kissing her again, in the hopes that it might return that life force back to her, but abandoned the idea almost at once. After all, his intentions would not be pure. They were selfish – saving her life. He pulled her up to cradle her in his arms and looked over at younger Jenny and Abbie.

"Help her!" he shouted, frantic. "Please, I beg you!"

They turned in unison to look at him, but did not move. In the end, it was Jenny who spoke. "She has made her choice. It cannot be altered."

Crane looked at them, eyes wide in complete terror. "She did not understand the choice she was given!" he screamed. When their faces remained impassive, he turned back to Abbie and stroked her cheek gently. Closing his eyes, he let his head rest against hers. "She did not understand…" he said faintly.

"I…did…"

Crane flinched and his eyes snapped open. He found himself staring into Abbie's beautiful brown eyes. "Miss Mills? Are you injured?"

Her mouth curved into a small smile and she blinked a few times, seemingly attempting to awaken herself more fully. She tried to move and then apparently realized she was being held in Ichabod's steely embrace. "Umm…Crane?"

He immediately released his hold on her and moved to help her to stand. He watched as she brought her hands to her head, rubbing her temples.

"I apologize, but I feared for your safety. You fell after we…ah, subsequent to our…" he faltered, too embarrassed to say the word.

Abbie stood on wobbly legs, reminding him oddly of a newborn fawn and moved one hand to his arm to steady herself. She looked up at him through her hair, and he swore he saw shyness in her eyes.

"After we kissed?" she finally asked, her voice uncharacteristically small and soft.

He wondered if the kiss had felt as magical and thrilling to her as it had to him. He did not voice his question. He fell into his familiar stance of a soldier at ease: hands clasped behind his back and only nodded briskly once, looking somewhere to the left of her face. "Correct."

"Sorry about that, Crane. It was the only way."

He wanted so much to tell her that she should never apologize for kissing him and he was now speculating if he would be able to make it through the rest of his life if it never happened again.

"The only way?" he repeated, saying none of what his heart wanted him to say. Then the realization of what she meant hit him and he felt his heart plummeting. He found the courage to look into her eyes and his fears from before came racing back. He knew what she was going to say.

She moved closer to him and took his hand tenderly, looking at him with nothing but happiness. For the life of him he could not seem to formulate a reason as to why she would be so happy.

"You have it now. You'll be okay. You'll last until Jenny finds you."

She leaned closer to hug him tightly for a few moments, but it was so fast that Ichabod didn't even have time to put his arms around her. Before he knew it, she had retreated and was looking off at Jenny and Abbie again.

"I can feel that it's gone. I feel different; lighter."

She seemed to be directing the statement towards them, but they did not reply.

Ichabod reached out and took her hand in his. She looked back to him, apparently surprised at the contact. "Abbie, please reverse what you have done," he said, daring to break with etiquette and use her first name. "_I am begging you_."

Her face crumpled a bit and he even thought she looked a bit offended. "I can't reverse it, Crane. And despite what you think, I did understand what I was doing – what I was choosing. I did it freely and honestly."

"But you have condemned yourself to Purgatory and this damnable dollhouse for all of eternity!" he roared. "And for what?!"

She looked at him, tears shining in her eyes and he felt the peculiar notion that she was memorizing his face. "For **_you_**," she said simply, stepping back from him, her hand slipping from his.

"But _why_?" he cried, his blue eyes wounded. The fear that she was forever tumbling away from him at a breakneck speed gripped him suddenly, and he felt nauseous. "We were supposed to stop Moloch together," he said, his voice softer, defeated. "Not for you to spend eternity languishing in this horrid place. We _promised_ each other."

"We _promised_ a lot of things," Abbie said, the hurt at his choice touching her words for the first time.

She let out a breath and walked over to the window. Outside laid Purgatory in its awful splendor. Tortured souls crying out in agony, lost in their own personal hell as time went on without their notice. Ichabod could not begin to imagine her lost in this place forever. His heart ached at the thought. He wasn't so distraught when Katrina was trapped here and he was beginning to think he knew why.

"Did I ever tell you about my grandmother?" Abbie asked suddenly, the previous venom leeched from her voice. She spoke as if they were meeting on a lazy Sunday afternoon and had all the time in the world. She looked to him, waiting for his reply.

Ichabod did not comprehend why she suddenly wished to reminisce about her grandmother, but he decided to indulge her. He shook his head; said nothing.

"I didn't get to see her much and there's not much about her I remember. But there is one thing she said that has stuck with me: take care of those you love." Abbie chuckled sadly. "Too bad my mom never took that one to heart."

Ichabod was about to say something to comfort her, but she spoke before he was able.

"Doesn't matter now, does it? Anyway, I believe that wholeheartedly. You take care of those you love and that's what I am doing. I'd do the same for Jenny."

He looked at her in a mixture of confusion and newborn hope and was unable to think of anything to say that would make any sense. For the first time in his life, it seemed, he was rendered speechless.

Abbie moved from the window back towards him and pulled him to her gently, reverently. Wrapping her arms around his waist, she nestled her head against his chest – near his heart – and took a deep breath. He felt as though she were preparing to say something. He imagined her lips pursed and brow furrowed; the way she looked when she was going to tell him something important.

"I know this won't really matter to you, Crane. Your heart belongs to somebody else – I get that and I respect it, but the truth is…I love you. It's as simple as that."

Ichabod felt his heart begin to beat double-time and thought it might burst from his chest. He made no move to return her embrace out of fear that she would run away from him if he tried. He felt as though shock had permeated his entire being. Abbie's declaration took him totally by surprise. He thought he had been alone in his newfound feelings.

"Miss Mills, I never dreamed that—"

"It's okay, Crane," she said. Surprisingly, she didn't move from where she was. He felt no anxiety emanating from her. No regret. "I know you don't feel the same. I'm just your partner. You love Katrina and that's how it is. That's why I'm doing this – so you can be with her - and it's why I know you'll be fine without me. Besides, even if you could have gotten me out of here by some miracle, I'm thinking Katrina is not big on being the third wheel anyway."

Confused as to her turn of phrase, he looked down at her, using his fingers to tip her chin up and force her to look into his eyes. "Third wheel?"

He noticed she could hardly hold his gaze. "There would have been no room for me if we all got out of here. You, Katrina and me down in the archives all fighting Moloch? I don't really see that working. That's how I know this is the right choice. It's like a big neon VACANCY sign pointing me to my destiny. It's better this way. Trust me. Besides, you'll be better off with a witch on your side instead of just a cop."

He took hold of her gently by her shoulders. "You are more than just an officer of the law."

She shrugged. "Okay, a Witness. Still…witch beats Witness every time."

He shook his head and finally put his arms around her slight frame. His eyes shifted into a warm cornflower blue. "You embody far more than a Witness…to _me_."

"Crane…" Abbie tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her go.

"Miss Mills, earlier you intimated that I came to Purgatory to rescue my soul mate. However, I've recently come to grasp that the veracity of that statement is in question."

Abbie looked at him quizzically. She once again tried to pull back from him, but his arms were bands of steel around her. He was unwilling to let her get too far away. "Crane, I didn't understand one word of that."

He smiled and looked down at her, feeling the butterflies returning. He thought he would never tire of gazing at her face or feeling her in his arms and the very notion that this might be the last time he would do so made him certain that he had to confess his feelings now.

"Is it so hard to believe, Miss Mills?" he asked, finally. When she did not respond, he added, "I did not journey here to _rescue_ my soul mate. She came _with_ me."

Abbie stared at him for what felt like eons, her chocolate-brown eyes wide as saucers, lovely mouth agape. For a moment, Crane wondered if she had lapsed into some sort of catatonia and was about to shake her, when he saw a single tear make its way down her cheek. Then suddenly, she was kissing him again, and unbelievably, it was better than the first time, because there was no ulterior motive behind it. It was only the two of them, skin to skin, lost in the deep currents of their emotions.

Ichabod wrapped his arms as tight around her as he could until it seemed that she were melting into him and they were one body, one soul, one consciousness. Two Witnesses melded into one formidable shield against humanity. In their current state, he felt that Moloch's powers were infinitesimal compared to the strength they could wield when united in their love for one another.

At long last, Abbie broke from him, and he almost cried out at the loss. He took her hand, refusing to let her get very far from him, unable to endure it.

"Ichabod, I'll always be right _here_," she said, laying her other hand reverently on his chest; over his heart. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, unheeded, and her eyes sparkled with them; stars hovering in the cosmos of her stunning face. "Nothing can take me away from you, you hear me? Not Moloch or Purgatory and not time. We're forever."

For the first time in his life, Ichabod felt a sob working its way up from the depths of his soul. He let go of Abbie and covered his face with his hands, his whole body shaking.

"This is unbearable!" he shrieked, looking up at her, eyes wild. "I will not leave you here again! Especially not when we've just become aware of how we feel for each other. This cannot be the culmination of our relationship..." He ended his tirade in a whimper and pulled her close again.

Abbie reached up on tip-toe and kissed his stubbly cheek, tasting his tears. Her hand cradled his other cheek, her thumb stroking his lips.

"It has to be," she said, her voice breaking. "This is where our story ends, Ichabod. But not yours. You have to go on because we can't let Moloch win. He's already gotten me. He can't win the war."

Ichabod took a shaky breath, tenderly pushing some of her hair away from her brow. He looked down at her in complete adoration. "I fear I am of no use without you, my dear Lieutenant," he confessed.

"You'll have Katrina," Abbie suggested.

Ichabod shook his head, tears in his eyes. He reached up to touch her cheek with his left hand. "Hers is not the face I wish to see each morning. Hers is not the hand I wish to hold and hers is not the heart to which I belong."

Abbie's face crumbled and another tear streamed down her face. "Damn you and your way with words," she said, mock admonishment in her voice, a small smile on her lips. "I really wish you had figured this out BEFORE we came to Purgatory, you know? Maybe you wouldn't be in that coffin right now."

Ichabod nodded, pulling her close once more. He breathed in the familiar scent of her, using it as a balm on his battered soul. "I beg you to believe that if I had the opportunity to go back and start again, everything would be different. I would never have allowed you to remain here, no matter what your proclamations were. I shall never forgive myself for this. Not in 10,000 lifetimes. I thought I had sinned before, but nothing compares to the sin I have perpetrated against you."

He watched as sadness bloomed across her face at his words, and she pulled away, sitting down at the dollhouse's table. She looked so alone sitting there; never more an orphan than at that moment.

"Can't go back, Ichabod," she finally said, lowering her head; her voice a pale imitation of its usual bravado. She drifted off for a moment, head hanging low, her breathing shallow. It was then that Ichabod noticed how weary she seemed. He was almost certain he could see the life force seeping from her with every moment that passed.

Finally, Abbie raised her head, and Ichabod was shocked at how pale she looked. Her eyes were duller, as well; almost lifeless. "If there's one thing I learned in my life it's that our choices are our own and we have to live with them." Her voice was so soft, so faint and weak, but somehow, she pressed on. "You _chose_ to bring Katrina back. I _chose_ to stay in Purgatory. And just now, I chose to give you my strength. It was a choice made from love and I won't take it back. Without it, you were going to die in that unmarked grave on that lonely island…"

Abbie trailed off and closed her eyes. She wrapped her arms around her midsection and slumped back into the chair, breathing slowly. It was as though her declaration had sapped all of the meager strength she had left.

Ichabod rushed to her side and kneeled next to her, pulling her against his chest. "Hush now," he said tenderly, stroking her cheek. "You're too weak. Please save your strength."

Abbie was quiet for a while, just breathing. Ichabod said nothing; just held her and hoped that somehow she would be able to draw strength from him. As he did, he slowly noticed the strange sensation of a fullness settling around where he assumed his heart was. It was not an unpleasant feeling, instead it seemed to soothe his frayed nerves and calm the tempest inside. Gradually as Miss Mills' breaths became lighter and less labored, he found his own doing the same.

He felt a tug on his sleeve and when he looked down at her, he was amazed at how young she suddenly looked – almost like a girl – and how healthy! Her previous bruises were gone. Her cheeks were full and glowing and the wound on her shoulder had disappeared. Beyond her physical recovery, it seemed like all of the pain and abuse and loneliness she had weathered in her mortal life had been lifted away, like a veil. The heavy darkness that once marred her soul and the burden it had placed on her was gone and only lightness and pure beauty remained. He was made breathless by her unearthly grace. Ichabod was certain that this was what it must feel like to gaze upon a heavenly being. Before he even realized it, his hand cradled her cheek.

"You are so beautiful," he breathed, almost like a prayer. "An angel."

She half-smiled and exhaled slowly, looking away from him shyly. "They told me this might happen."

Ichabod made her look back at him and stroked her cheek gently with his thumb. He could not stop gazing at her. His eyes were wide with the wonder and splendor of her. "That what might happen?"

"You've got a part of me inside you now, Crane," she said slowly. His brow crinkled and he wondered if that was the fullness he had taken note of before.

"What I gave you was more than just my physical strength," Abbie continued. "You have a piece of my soul. So you can see the real me; the one I usually hide. The woman behind all the pain and sorrow I knew in my life. When you look at me now, all of the stuff I used as my armor – all the things I hid behind – they're gone. My wounds aren't really gone. It's just that you can't see them anymore. You can only see the truth of my soul. This is me."

"Why did you ever hide something so precious?" he asked in amazement. "I've always thought you beautiful and brave, but now…here…you are magnificent."

Abbie smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks, her eyes glittering. "You and your way with words."

She kissed his left cheek, then; lingered there, near the corner of his lips. Somehow, it felt like an incredibly intimate thing for her to do and he smiled, feeling his heart break into a gallop; a colt in spring.

"Now I'll always be with you," she whispered, her voice catching a bit. "You'll never walk alone and there's nothing Moloch can do about it."

He took her hand reverently between his own. "I do not wish to merely have part of you with me, Miss Mills. I wish to have all of you. Surely you can remain steadfast until I return and procure your release? Please, Abbie."

She looked up at him adoringly, but shook her head. "That's not possible now. Besides, I don't want you wasting time worrying about me or trying to save me. It's okay, Crane."

He gripped her hand a little tighter. "Lieutenant, I do not believe you realize the depth of my feelings. Have you forgotten my previous declaration?"

She sighed. "Things look different here, like I said. They feel different. I think this place amplifies the emotions of mortal people. Once you get back and you're with Katrina, you'll feel differently. You'll remember your love for her." She took a deep breath and tried to smile.

"Am I to understand by all that gibberish that you believe I will forget my feelings for you once I leave this place? That you will cease to mean anything to me?" he asked, his blue eyes bright with anger. He felt tears of frustration on his cheeks but didn't bother to wipe them away.

She reached up and smoothed his tears away. "I didn't mean it that way. I know you won't forget me, but I'm hoping you will be able to find joy in your life…in Katrina. This is how it has to be now. Look," she said, pointing off towards the younger version of herself and Jenny.

Ichabod looked to where she had directed and saw that the younger Jenny and Abigail had risen from the couch. They were standing hand in hand looking at them, but the most amazing thing about the pair was that they were smiling. Previously, their faces had been gaunt and hollow with fear and sadness, but now they were glowing with joy.

"Thank you," they suddenly said in unison, looking right at Abbie. The combination of their voices produced a strange eerie effect and sent a chill down Ichabod's back. He felt the hair on the back of his neck rising.

Ichabod looked from them to Abbie and back again. Why were they thanking her? He turned back to Abbie, eyes wide, fear gripping his heart with an ice-cold certainty. "What is the meaning of this?"

Abbie took his hand, but said nothing; simply inclined her head to them in acknowledgement.

Ichabod looked back at the pair and noticed that their forms were no longer solid. He could almost see through their bodies to the wall behind them. They began to shimmer, like the water in the pond behind his childhood home in England, and each moment that passed, he could see more of the wall and less of them. They did not seem afraid in the slightest for their eyes were bright with laughter and wonder.

Just before they disappeared completely, he heard them say, "We're free…"

Their words echoed in the air of the dollhouse even after he could no longer see them, and although they had appeared happy to go to wherever and whatever awaited them, he found their absence unnerving and feared they foreshadowed a similar fate for Abbie. Would she be next to evaporate before his very eyes?

"Miss Mills, _please_—"

She put a finger to his lips effectively stopping his words and smiled at him. Once again, he was transfixed by her now otherworldly beauty and poise. Her movements were fluid – those of an accomplished dancer – but even more elegant still. Her eyes were liquid pools of topaz and her skin seemed lit from within and looked as soft as silk. He wanted nothing more than to touch her at that moment. He had thought her beautiful from their first meeting, but now, paradoxically in this inherently ugly place, she was more beautiful than ever; almost unnaturally so. It was very powerful – this ability he now had to see her true version. In truth, it only made his feelings for her stronger and more profound. If he tried, he was also quite certain that now, more than just a vague fullness, he could feel the essence of her presence deep within himself; hiding in the very marrow of his bones. She was in him, curling around his mind and between every beat of his heart and in the spaces between every breath he took. Ichabod knew they had formed a fast camaraderie soon after meeting, and that had transformed into a deep friendship that had sustained him in this strange time. Recently, though, he had begun to notice other deeper emotions regarding the Lieutenant that had begun surfacing just before they came here, and now he was quite certain that bond had solidified into the eternity of soul mates.

"It's time, Crane." She pulled him from his reverie and he noticed that even her voice had transformed to him; become melodic and lyrical even when speaking mundane words. Just the mere sound of it nearly bewitched him and he wondered if this was how sailors felt when they were lured by mermaids.

"Time?" He couldn't seem to remember to what she was referring, so lost was he in the spectacle of her, but quickly, meaning dawned on him, like a red sky at sea; a warning. The idea that he had to leave her was like a bucket of cold water on his head and he was suddenly petrified.

She nodded, but her smile never wavered. If she was scared at all, he was unable to discern it. "Yep. I don't want you to, but you gotta go."

"I've already informed you that I have no intention of leaving you here – especially not to dissolve into nothing like your companions just did!" He knew his voice had a hysterical edge to it, but he couldn't seem to control it.

Abbie didn't seem upset by his ranting. Instead, she seemed to exude serenity and peace and the very dichotomy of what she _should_ be feeling and what she _appeared_ to be made him even more upset. He felt himself begin to shake and his vision darkened, inherently he knew that pure panic was chasing him down the way any demon would.

Abbie was immediately in his arms and the moment he felt her body against his, it soothed some of the turmoil in his soul. The gloom retreated from his vision and he felt his body still. His eyes drifted shut and he pulled her as close as he was able and bit down a cry.

"Shh…Crane, it's okay," she said, gently rubbing his back. Once again, the new persuasive capacity of her voice made him almost powerless to resist anything she might ask of him. "I'm here with you."

"For _now_," he said, finally voicing the fear that had plagued him since he had found her here.

"No. Remember, I'm inside you now. I'll be with you, always, Crane," she said gently, affection flooding her voice, filling it to bursting.Her voice lulled him into a kind of reverie and he could do nothing but stand there in her embrace. Time stretched and lost its meaning and he did not know how long they stood like that, heart to heart. It could have been an eternity for all he knew, because all he did know was that he never wanted to leave her side.


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Thank you to everyone who read this and those who wrote reviews! I so appreciate it! This started out as just a fun little diversion for me and a way to get over writer's block and now I have a story on my hands. There will be more chapters coming! :-)

"Open your eyes, Ichabod."

Her soft words, spoken after so much silence, startled him and his eyes snapped open. What he saw gave him a sudden jolt of hope; like consuming one of those vitality drinks she favored.

"Abbie, how is this possible? Are we…?"

The bleak dollhouse and its sorrow-filled halls were gone. The agonized souls were no longer lurching about, crying in pain. Indeed, all of Purgatory was gone, replaced with, of all things, a baseball field. But not just any field. It was the very field where Miss Mills had taken him not long ago to teach him about "America's favorite pastime." He could smell the grass and the dirt and songbirds flew overhead in an aquamarine sky that seemed to go on forever. It was too perfect to be genuine. He looked over to her, a hopeful yet tentative smile on his lips.

Abbie bit hers and moved a step away from him. "We're not really here," she said, sadness coloring her voice for the first time in a while.

So, it _was_ too perfect, then. He had feared as much, but the hope had blossomed in his heart anyway only for the truth of her statement to crush it into obscurity.

"Then what is this place?" he asked, defeated.

She shrugged and folded her arms across her chest. "I like to think of it as _our_ place." Her voice was small and soft, but so wonderful to hear. "The house was upsetting you, so I thought you would like this better. This is one of my best memories."

Ichabod's face fell. "It is one of my most treasured recollections, as well. But how did you do this?"

Her eyebrows raised. "I'm not sure?"

Abbie said it as a question but he was certain that she did not expect him to provide any kind of answer. So he said nothing and waited for her to continue.

She sighed. "I just thought of it all of a sudden and what a wonderful time we had that day and I thought that I would love to be able to go back there. Then…here we were. Maybe it was the girls' parting gift to us; a thank you."

"What about Moloch?"

He thought he saw her shiver at the mention of the demon's name, but it happened so fast, he couldn't be sure.

"He's still here. He'll never really let me leave the dollhouse. This place is just Purgatory camouflage…for you. It's so you can be more comfortable," she said, looking around at what could have been a perfect day.

"But you told me not a moment ago that it was time for me to leave," Ichabod said, taking a step towards her. As he did, she moved back from him, her movements feline and lithe.

"It is. Jenny is close to you. I can feel it. She _will_ find you."

He moved towards her again and when she feinted away a second time, he halted his movements, took a deep breath and held his hands up as though he were under arrest. "Will you please cease your infernal peripatetic wandering?!"

She smiled then, and put her hands on her hips. "I will if you stop trying to touch me."

He was stopped short by her comment and truly flabbergasted. "Why am I suddenly barred from holding you?" he asked, his eyes winterblue and wounded.

Her smile faded and she sighed. "You're not, Crane. I'm just trying to make things easier for you."

Ichabod was shocked at how completely she had the situation upturned in her mind. How in the world could anything good come out of him staying away from her? How could that be "easy" as she had said? Abbie must truly believe that he would leave Purgatory and just take up some happy existence with Katrina while she floundered here after sacrificing herself for her blasted notion of his happiness and what she thought he truly wanted.

"Will you come with me?" Her simple request broke him from his thoughts.

He hesitated only seconds before closing the gap between them and taking her hand in his. The moment he did, he felt their undeniable connection spring to life and he said nothing as she led him over to the bleachers. He assumed they were going to sit on them as they had done that day at the real baseball field, but instead, she kept walking. Eventually he realized they were going underneath them. Abbie crouched down and scurried underneath, sitting in the damp grass, motioning for him to follow. He looked at her for a few beats in complete confusion and then decided not to question for once; just follow wherever his heart led. It was truly his life's greatest pity that he had learned so late just exactly what it was his heart wanted.

He sat next to her and she immediately took his hand in hers, but seemed careful that no other parts of their bodies were touching. She wasn't even looking at him. This new notion she had about making things "easy" for him was becoming truly maddening.

"When Jenny and I were kids," she began, "and my mother was ranting and raving and being generally crazy and everything seemed hopeless, we would sneak out of the house and run to our local baseball field. And we'd sit under the bleachers and watch the game and watch all of the families that were there and pretend that one of them was our own. You know, like a real family; people who loved each other and laughed together."

"Abbie," he began, but she held up a hand to stop him.

"It's all right, Crane. That's all gone now. I don't even feel it anymore. I guess all of that lifted from me when I gave you my strength…when I…died. It's like, I can remember it, but the pain that always came with it before just doesn't exist now. It's like I said: I don't have to hide anymore."

She turned to look at him, and he could see that she spoke the truth. There were no tears in her eyes, no pain or hurt. They were clear and bright.

"Anyway, sitting under those bleachers always got us out of the dumps somehow. No matter how bad it got at home, we could always come here and lose ourselves in the daydream of a better life. So, I guess that I brought you here because I want you to know that is what I want for you: a better life. It's what you deserve."

He reached out to touch her cheek and was surprised when she allowed it. "Miss Mills, can't you see that I will have _no_ life without you?"

She put her hand on top of his while it was still on her cheek and for a moment, turned her face into his hand. "You will. I've made sure of it. '_Tomorrow was made for some_,' Crane, but not me. So when you get back to the real world and you think of me – think of me here. Not back in the dollhouse. Imagine me here and maybe you'll make it happen. Picture me sitting under these bleachers, with the smell of the grass and the crack of a bat behind me. Picture me daydreaming about the amazing life you're going to have – a Revolutionary soldier in the modern world who got a second chance with the love of his life."

He shook his head, feeling anger and hopelessness and desperation welling up inside. "But **_you_** are—"

"Stop," she said, holding her hand up, cutting him off. Her eyes were instantly full of tears and the agony that had been previously erased from her countenance was back tenfold.

"Please don't say it. I don't think I could make it one more second alone here if you say it. I know I said I don't feel the pain of my life anymore, but for some reason, I feel **everything** about you." Her voice broke on the last word and a tear streaked down her cheek; a lightning strike. She reached out and took his hand and kissed his palm softly. Then, after a shuddering breath, she went on.

"I think I feel what I feel for you even more now…here…in this place. It cuts deeper somehow. So if you say what you were going to say, I'm pretty sure my heart will break into about a thousand pieces and I'll just blink out of existence from the agony. I know my body is dead and gone, but that kind of pain…that could kill my soul. That's the only thing I still have to hide from…for eternity now, I guess."

Ichabod's face fell at her words and he felt as though she had shot an arrow into his heart, so great was the ache there. He wanted nothing more than to wrap his arms around her and never release her. He wanted to take away that pain and spend the rest of his life making her feel safe and loved and to know that she would never have to be alone again.

"Miss Mills, don't you see that I feel the same? I will be nothing more than a shell without you. My heart will be crippled. How can it be proper for us to be apart if it will tear our souls to shreds? We are the Witnesses. God has decreed that we be united. How can you question His will?"

Abbie looked at him in such a strange way that for a few moments, he wasn't sure if she was going to kiss him or punch him. In the end, her brown eyes filled with tears that spilled onto her cheeks in endless torrents.

"I know who we are, Crane, ok? I know! Trust me, leaving you – being _without_ you – will be the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm not sure if I'll survive it, but if this is the only way to keep you alive, I've got to try."

Ichabod wracked his brain for another way to get through to her, but found himself at a loss. He had tried every tactic; every way but one. Every way but what he now knew was the ultimate truth of his soul; his very existence. He took her hands in his and held them to his chest; his eyes boring into hers, hoping he could penetrate the wall she had built up around herself.

"I love you, Abbie." The words left him in a reverent hush and seemed to hang in the air between them, thick and ripe with meaning.

Those four words seemed to undo her and her face crumpled as she collapsed against him, sobbing. She grabbed the lapels of his jacket and pulled him closer to her, her cheek pressed against his shirt. He felt her tears soaking through it to his skin. Ichabod wrapped his arms around her and hoped his presence would provide some relief to her and would help her to see that she was wrong in staying in Purgatory. Slowly, her sobs calmed and then ceased and she was silent for a few moments.

When she pushed away from him and spoke, her voice was soft but resolute. "I want you to know you made a difference in my life. You may think you see the real me now, but I could tell you saw her from the first time we met. I got that right away. I think that's why I let you get so close as fast as you did and why I believed you when everyone else thought you were crazy. You took me the way I was and made me feel like I was good enough. Nobody besides Corbin ever did that for me. I will keep that with me forever. Your memory and what you did for me will keep me warm in this place and I know as long as I have that, I can take whatever Moloch does to me. I want to give you something back of what you've given me. I love you, too, Ichabod and that's why I want you to live."

Ichabod looked at her – so brave in the face of tragedy – and only one thought, one question came to his mind. "What is it you most desire, Miss Mills?"

Her brow furrowed and she wiped a few errant tears away. "What?"

"When I first…arrived and Moloch had you, he told you that if you gave him your soul, he would give you that which you most desired…"

Abbie looked at him sideways. "You heard that part, huh?" She nodded, a sad smile on her lips. "Well, it doesn't matter, because like I told him it's something that even _he_ couldn't do."

Ichabod took her hand gently and if he didn't know it was impossible, would have sworn that his heart was black and blue, so mightily did it ache. "And ever since you uttered those words, I have been speculating what in the world you might desire that would be beyond Moloch's powers to attain. Might you enlighten me?"

Her face crumpled a bit and she quickly wiped away a tear that had appeared almost instantly. The moment she did, Ichabod had his answer, but for some sadistic reason, he wanted her to say it. Perhaps as a way to punish himself?

But instead, she reached out and touched his face chastely, her eyes portraits of pain. "Can't you guess, Crane?"

It was **him**. _He_ was that which she most desired and thought unattainable, and that assumption was his fault entirely. He could barely see her for the tears in his eyes. It almost seemed as though he were looking at her through a thick pane of glass; her image was fractured and broken. Or perhaps that was simply his heart.

"Miss Mills, please…" he faltered, his throat choked with pain, his fingers ghosting across her face.

Abbie smiled at him sadly, wiping some of his tears away with her thumb. "Crane, it's okay. I may not get what I most desire, but you will. You'll be back with Katrina…which reminds me…"

She reached behind her head with both hands and before Ichabod knew what was happening she was holding Katrina's pendant in front of him. "Here. This isn't mine."

He shook his head, fear stealing his breath. "Katrina gave you that pendant for your safekeeping. Without it, you will have no protection from Moloch."

She looked at him quizzically and grabbed his hand and let the pendant puddle in his palm. "She gave me this pendant when I was still alive. She gave this pendant to protect a mortal trapped in an immortal place. Crane, I _am_ dead." Here, her voice faltered, a tear slipping down her cheek and she closed his fingers around the pendant. "You've got to accept the truth and the truth is I don't need this anymore. I'm beyond its help, but the two of you aren't. If it can help either of you one day, then I want you to have it."

He was about to tell her that her assumption was incorrect when she tapped him on his chest, over his heart.

"Take good care of that little piece of me, ok?" she asked. "Know that if it's possible, I will watch over you your entire life. You will _never_ walk alone, I swear."

Ichabod was lost, cast adrift on an ocean of pain and regret and desolation. He could only shake his head. "Please…" he croaked out again, his eyes swimming shut.

"I'll miss you, always and love you, forever," she said, her voice breaking.

Before he could say anything else, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his chastely and he could not escape the feeling that she intended it as a goodbye kiss. Before he could speak, he was assaulted with an overpowering fatigue that permeated his every pore. He fell back onto the grass and reached out for Abbie. His fingers found nothing but empty space and no matter how hard he tried, he could not open his eyes. They felt almost weighted down or filled with sand. Ichabod was about to scream out her name, when her sweet voice cut through the inky darkness that was now all around him.

"_Open your eyes, Ichabod._"

Her words echoed, bouncing around him as though he were in some deep cavern underground and he tried to move again, to sit up, but was still unable. If he hadn't known better, he would have sworn that he was being held down. With a deep breath, Ichabod tried again and was finally able to open his eyes, encountering only endless obsidian that seemed no different than when he had his eyes closed. He knew he should have found such obscurity unnerving, but instead, it felt in some way familiar to him. And where was Miss Mills?

"_Why are you here, Crane?_"

He tried to turn his head in the direction from which her voice had come, but he could not. Ichabod simply could not grasp what had happened in such a short span of time. One moment, he had been with Abbie at the baseball field and the next he had been pushed headlong into this dark void of nothingness and she had utterly vanished.

She had vanished…evaporated…faded away…blinked out of existence.

Violent nausea rolled over him in waves as understanding dawned on him, a scream working its way out from the depths of his shattered heart.

"_You're not dead, Ichabod._"

Only her voice stopped him from screaming her name until he was hoarse and his last breath spent. Perhaps if he could still hear her, she was not truly gone and he could find his way back to her. He simply could not bear the thought that she had just ceased to exist the way the girls had. There had to be another way, just as she had once said to him.

He took a deep breath, but found that the air around him had changed and was no longer as easy to bring into his lungs. It seemed damp and heavy and the strange scent that had been ever-present in Purgatory before this was now missing. As he noted its absence, Ichabod was better able to remember the times he had smelled it before…

_…__In the gatehouse of his father's estate, where their housekeeper lay ill…_

_…__At the foot of a tree into which the hounds had chased a fox…_

_…__In the smokehouse, where the Christmas hams hung from the rafters…_

_…__At the edge of his mother's bed, as he watched her fall deeper into the clutches of Tuberculosis…_

Tears welled in his eyes as he realized that the odd aroma he had noticed in Purgatory since he first arrived – the one that had been familiar but elusive – had been the scent of Death.

Everywhere he had been with Abbie in Purgatory, it had been there, clinging, loitering, smothering and enveloping everything in its black presence; including the Lieutenant.

Ichabod felt the scream fighting to break loose again from the deepest part of his soul. Perhaps that was why he had such a burning pain in his lungs? The scream was scorching everything it touched as it passed – branding him the way her love had – the mark a testament to her indomitable spirit and singular strength of character. It claimed him as hers and hers alone and he would accept it proudly. Was it not the least he could do considering all she had sacrificed in his name?

He tried to take another breath, but found it nearly impossible. There was just no more air to be had wherever he was. He wondered if this erased void where everything and nothing existed at once was God's final decision on his punishment for his betrayal of Abbie. Possibly, this was his own personal Purgatory: alone and held still in the horrible presence of his sin. The fact did not frighten him, though he supposed it should have. All Ichabod could think about was that Abbie was gone and he would never see her again, never touch her again, never see her smile. If that were true, what did it matter what happened to him now? The only thing that pained him was that Abbie had made her sacrifice in vain, because he was not to survive the coffin after all. He had never even made it out of Purgatory. Instead, God had simply been expertly cruel and put him in his own hell: existence separate from Abbie Mills.

His breath hitched in his chest and he gasped, barely able to get any air at all. Distantly, absently, he thought he heard a thumping and scraping sound, but he paid it no mind. It was likely his own heart banging against his chest as it lurched frantically to its inevitable crescendo.

Ichabod closed his eyes since there was nothing to see anyway and the Lieutenant's face drifted into focus in his mind. His eidetic memory showed him every detail of her face: the lines of her lips, arches of her brows and the affection that shone in her russet eyes when she gazed upon him. He was grateful that God had not taken that from him, at least. He felt, too, that small part of her that he now carried, curled deep inside. Though that small fragment gave him some comfort, it broke his heart anew, as well, because it was a piece longing for its whole. It whispered her name like a prayer given up to the heavens and although meant to give him strength, it now dealt him a crushing blow. Ichabod felt her absence like a knife's blade and knew that even if he had survived the coffin, he would not have been able to live with the torment of living without Abbie. With every passing moment, that pain chipped away at his heart and soul and made him realize that he was now part of a whole – separated eternally from that which it belonged – and he would forever be incomplete.

With the last few breaths in his body and until his heart was silent, he said aloud over and over the only truth of which he was still certain.

"I love you, Abbie. I love you, Abbie. I love you, Abbie."


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Sorry for the huge delay in updating, but work has just been so crazy and stressful lately and my daughter started Kindergarten. But I am so proud that I was able to get these next two chapters up before the Season 2 Premiere! Now my story does not have to worry about canon in that regard. ;-)**

Ichabod came back slowly to the world – hesitant, wobbly and unsure – the way a butterfly emerged from its chrysalis. He was still lost in darkness, but he knew he was not where he had been. Something fundamental had changed and for a few moments, there was nothing before **now**, but he felt certain that it existed. It was waiting for him…waiting…waiting…something…or was it some_one_…was waiting for him…waiting for him to come back. But who…and from where? If only he could remember… 

He could feel his mind probing outwards carefully, and as it did, little tendrils of the world reached out in return, wrapping around him and pulling him out of the darkness and into the light of knowing.

The light began as just a pinprick in the darkness he had become accustomed to and slowly spread outwards; ink bleeding across paper. Then it crashed down upon him like an avalanche and boulders rained down onto his heart mercilessly until all that was left in the rubble after the dust settled was Abbie's face.

He had left Abbie alone in Purgatory!

She had forced him to abandon her there because she thought he wanted to live out his life with Katrina. She thought she was doing the honorable thing and giving him what he wanted. Ludicrous, really, since he had recently discovered – admitted? – that he was, in fact, in love with Miss Mills herself.

Her beautiful face shimmered into focus in his mind as he slowly, ever so slowly, became aware of the sensation of breathing again. The last thing he remembered, he had been in complete darkness and there had been no air left. He had assumed that was his punishment from God: to forever drift in the dark eddies of Purgatory, his body frozen in the grip of its tragic last breath, while the burden of his sin against Abbie pressed down on him.

But now, amazingly, he was able to breathe again and Ichabod could not understand why or how, and he felt guilty for the ability. He had accepted his fate, so where could he be in Purgatory that air had been returned to him?

A moment later, sounds around Ichabod floated back to him – light as feathers – brushing insistently against his face.

Something squeaking down a distant hallway. A quill scratching against paper? A door closing. And the sound of murmured, worried voices.

But the sounds were unwelcome, and Ichabod turned inwards once again, with a will stronger than he thought he still possessed – and pushed the sounds and sensations away again – especially the voices. It seemed as though he hadn't heard spoken words in forever and hadn't even _thought_ words in an eternity. In those last moments before the air was gone, there had been no time or energy for words or coherent thought. His whole being had been reduced down to brief images and glimpses of emotion as he had resigned himself to the fact that he had died and his soul would spend the rest of its existence in Purgatory, forever separated from Miss Mills.

Ichabod did not want to face whatever new torture Moloch had designed for him. Wherever he was, he did not think himself strong enough to brave it without Abbie by his side. She was his rudder – guiding him where he ought to go; showing him the correct path. Without her, he felt cast adrift on an unknown sea. But even as he railed against this new reality he felt himself moving ever closer to it; powerless against its pull – a slave to its gravity.

Then, suddenly – jarringly – the muddled voices distilled into one clear tone: someone telling him to rest. He could not shake the feeling that the voice was familiar; that it was known to him. But there was nothing in his mind to give him a frame of reference for how he should know the voice. He could almost recall how he knew it, but the memory stayed just beyond his reach. All Ichabod could say for certain was that it was not Abbie's sweet pleasing voice and therefore, was not important. He gasped painfully as he realized that the only voice he wished to hear was hers. He turned inward again, stubbornly focused on her memory and the way she looked when he had declared his love; the way her whole being had seemed to effuse light and happiness. For that moment, at least, he had given her the gift of knowing that she was not alone and that he truly cared for her. The very thought that he should never see her or hold her again filled his heart with a bleak anguish he would not have thought possible before this. It took hold of him, choking, strangling, suffocating.

"Abbie…" he whispered brokenly, his voice thick with tears.

"There, there…just rest now." The voice was soft and tender and familiar and it vexed him because who would speak to him thusly except for his dear Abbie?

And then, with the weight of Vesuvius, it hit him; flames of lava singeing his heart.

Katrina.

His eyes snapped open in shock and then instantly closed again in an attempt to hide from the bright sunlight that filtered in through the shades, slanting across the floor in bright parallelograms. He felt her cold fingers on him then, fluttering across his cheeks and forehead, coming to rest on his shoulder. He steeled himself against her touches and kind entreaties. They were hollow and meaningless to him now. Katrina was no longer the one he wanted touching him and that caused him more guilt and grief, for he wished he had discovered his feelings sooner – if only to spare her needless pain and to have had even a paltry amount of time with Abbie.

Ichabod could not seem to force his mind to understand how his life had changed so drastically in a day. It didn't seem possible. At its core, the world was the same today as it had been yesterday, but everything that made the world _his_ world was now gone and shattered and could not be mended.

Katrina's hand slid down his shoulder to his left hand, but still he kept his eyes clamped tightly shut. If he opened his eyes, then he would have to face the truth. He would have to face the reality that he had somehow escaped the pine coffin while Miss Mills was left alone to endure the horrible pain and torture of Purgatory. He would have to accept the consequence of what she had done – that she had sacrificed her life so that he might survive – and live with that for the rest of his miserable existence.

"Please, Ichabod. Do me the courtesy to at least look at me."

The tone in her voice gave him pause. Hiding just beneath the surface of her concern, there was pain. Slowly, he opened his eyes, bracing himself for what he might see.

Katrina was still wearing the same black gown she had been in Purgatory, but it was ripped in spots and dirt marred its satin expanse. Her flame-red hair looked frazzled and hung unkempt about her face, but it was her expression that most caught Ichabod's attention. He couldn't remember a time when she had ever looked at him the way she did now, with a strange mix of betrayal and agony, eyes rimmed with red.

What had happened? If only he could remember. If only Abbie were here to help him traverse this awful new reality.

"Well, if it isn't Rip Van Winkle."

He turned in the direction of the new voice – so achingly close to Abbie's – and found himself looking at Miss Jenny. She was leaning against the doorframe of what he quickly ascertained was his private room in an infirmary. How he had come to be in a hospital was unknown to him, but he was certain that Jenny had something to do with it.

It was quite peculiar seeing her as an adult again when Ichabod had grown accustomed to her as a child during his time in Purgatory. But the child he had recently seen had fared much better physically than the grown woman who now stood before him. Jenny had a dressing on her head, her bottom lip was split open and her left arm was in a sling. She, too, had a strange expression on her face – but quite different from Katrina's. Ichabod could clearly denote a mixture of emotions: anger, relief, pity and blame.

But it was her very countenance – her similarity to the one he so treasured – that undid him, and the despair clawing at his soul twisted his face into a mask of pain. His eyes swam shut, tears slipping, unheeded, down his cheeks.

Seeing her only brought Abbie's absence to the forefront and the pain of it cut at him like a hot blade. Instantly, he felt the piece of her that resided inside him spark to life, waking from its slumber in the depths of his heart. It unfurled, stretching and growing, and called for her, slicing at his heart and soul, but then, strangely, the presence of it calmed him, as well. It was at once a balm and an astringent and he wondered if the comfort and pain it brought him in equal doses would prove to be the end of him. Abbie had told him that she had given him her mortal strength, but also much more than that. She had given him a part of her soul and because of that he would never be alone. However, if he were pressed to tell the truth at that moment, he had never felt more alone in his entire life. For all he desired in his existence – mortal or otherwise – was Abbie and she was the very person he would be forever denied.

"What is it, Ichabod?"

Katrina's voice had slipped back into timid concern and he felt awful for his thoughts, but he could not control his feelings. He found himself unable to speak from the pain drowning his heart; couldn't even look in her direction. Another tear slipped down his cheek as he opened his eyes and turned to look at Jenny

"How…long?" he asked, knowing she would understand the inference in his question.

Jenny looked from Katrina to him, eyebrows raised, but to her credit, she did not mention his obvious dismissal of Katrina's question.

"You've been out thirty-six hours, give or take," she finally answered. "That's not counting your time in that god-awful box. The doctors think you were probably in there for about twelve. They don't understand how you survived. Neither do I…"

Fear stole Ichabod's breath as he quickly calculated that Abbie has been in Purgatory for two days now; two mortal days. He remembered how she had looked after only being there for a few hours – how it had seemed like weeks for her. What would she look like now? What had Moloch done to her since Ichabod had been parted from her?

"The last thing I can clearly remember is being in the coffin," he said. "I thought it was surely the end. How did I arrive here?"

He looked around at the grey hospital room and the bed he now lay in, and the strange tube snaking out from his hand and up to a pouch of clear liquid hanging above him. Looking down, he found that he wore little more than a strange blue paper shift and every muscle in his body ached as though he had marched for days with no rest.

Jenny took a deep breath and he noticed that it hitched a little at the end. A broken rib, he suspected. "I was on my way to find you guys…to tell you about Parrish…when the Horseman suddenly appeared in the middle of the road. He did his best to stop me…or kill me. Not sure which. Probably both."

She held up her injured arm as evidence. "Anyway, when I came to, I was upside down in the truck. I don't exactly remember getting out, but all of a sudden, I was walking in the woods. I used the GPS on my phone to get to the spot you were trying to find. I had saved it on my phone before you left the Archives. When I got there and saw nothing, I decided to call Abbie's phone one more time. I figured it was worth a shot. That's when I heard the ringing…"

Ichabod looked at her strangely. His mind still felt distorted and jumbled and he was not sure what Jenny was trying to tell him. It seemed as though he were navigating his way through a dense fog of cobwebs and misconceptions.

"Miss Jenny, I am afraid I am at a loss as to your meaning."

Jenny sighed, clearly frustrated. "The ringing was coming from underground…" She prompted, raising her eyebrows and waited.

Ichabod still didn't understand and decided that saying nothing was the best course of action. His head was pounding in a feverish staccato rhythm and he felt dizzy from it.

Jenny exhaled in a huff. "You had Abbie's phone! I heard the ringing and started digging. The doctors said you should have run out of air hours before. They don't know how you were still alive when I found you."

Ichabod knew how he had survived. He had survived because Miss Mills, fearless in her belief that he had to go on, had given him her strength, thereby condemning her eternal soul to Purgatory.

There but for the grace of Abbie went he.

But then Ichabod's mind latched onto Jenny's earlier statement. Abbie's phone? He had Abbie's phone? Slowly, a memory slithered back into his consciousness: Abbie had lent him her "smartphone" because he had complained that his phone was not quite up to his standards. So she had courteously allowed him to use hers and see if it was to his liking.

"Of course. I forgot she had been gracious enough to loan it to me…but I remember now. I was trying to reach it directly after Jeremy pushed me into the coffin, but the space was too confined and I was unable. I felt horrible that I was going to die and Miss Mills would forever think I had abandoned her in Purgatory."

Katrina suddenly sniffled loudly and with a mumbled excuse, slunk from the room.

Jenny watched her go and Ichabod decided it was with little pity or regard. "You might have some explaining to do there, Crane."

"I am afraid I do not understand." Ichabod looked at her simply, waiting for an explanation.

Jenny smirked, but then winced when the expression apparently caused the wound on her temple to ache. "Right before you woke up, you were saying the same thing over and over."

Crane looked away from her and fixed his gaze on the trees outside the hospital window, the tearing and aching feeling returning. Now that his mind was clearing, he found he remembered EVERYTHING about his time in Purgatory with Abbie and it was the first time in his life that he cursed his memory. Strangely though, he could not recall that to which Jenny was referring. He did not remember repeating any mantra of any kind and found that he cared little about whatever it was that he had said. And by association, he realized with an odd detachment, that meant that he cared little that Katrina had been distressed by it. He had never felt more broken or lost – even when he first woke up to his new life.

He sighed. "And what could I have said that would upset Katrina?" he asked, hoping it sounded as though he were concerned. In truth, if Abbie were safe and well and beside him now, her warm hand in his, he would have been able to muster up worry for Katrina. She had been his wife and he owed her that, at least. But with things as they were at present, her minor upset paled in comparison to Abbie's fate.

Jenny furrowed her brow and for the life of him, he did not know why. When she spoke, her voice was sarcastic and clipped, but held a tiny shadow of humor.

"Oh I don't know. I think it was probably you saying '_I love you, Abbie_' about ten times that might have set her on edge, but it's hard to say. Maybe you forgot to pick up milk on the way home?"

Ichabod stared at her, dumbfounded, and suddenly it came rushing back to him. He had thought he was dying and trapped in that dark version of Purgatory forever and was certain that God had doled out his punishment for betraying Abbie. It had never occurred to him that he would ever get out of that pine coffin. He had said his heart's most profound truth, almost as a prayer of some kind – a penance – hoping that God would understand that he still had one redeeming quality. He loved a kind, brave and beautiful woman who had given her life for the greater good of Humanity and that should count for something.

Suddenly the pain of being separated from Abbie overwhelmed him and he brought his hands up to cover his eyes, using all of his willpower to bite down a screaming sob. The very idea that he actually had to continue living without her was simply a thought he could not bear.

He looked up at Jenny, his whole body shaking. He could not erase from his mind the image of Abbie being held aloft by Moloch, the scent of Death ever-present. Ichabod could still see Moloch's his claws ripping into her skin, her face the picture of misery as she proclaimed, "_I know my destiny: to be alone._" It haunted him and he felt the tiny fragment of Abbie inside him tighten around his heart, trying to bolster his spirit.

Tears welled in his bright blue eyes and splashed down onto his cheeks. "I fear I shall not survive without her."

He knew that Jenny would understand that he was not speaking of Katrina, but Abbie.

Jenny pushed away from the doorframe and moved closer to his bedside, looming menacingly above him like a fallen angel. There were a thousand accusations in her dark, brooding eyes.

"You sure as hell ARE going to survive," she said, her voice soft but savage. "At least long enough to help me find her. Where is she, Crane?" she finally asked. "I _**need**_ to know."


	7. Chapter 7

**NOTE: The line Ichabod quotes at the end of this chapter is from Hamlet, Act 1, Scene 5.**

Ichabod shook his head pitifully, feeling the pressure of his sin on his soul. "She sacrificed herself so that I might last long enough in the coffin until you found me. She…gave her life...for mine. She insisted that one of us had to survive to battle Moloch and Jeremy. There is nothing that can be done."

Jenny looked at him for a long time, and he thought she looked like a pot about to boil over, her anger simmering just beneath her skin. Then suddenly, her hands clenched into fists and he braced himself for what he was certain was soon to be a flurry of her fists against his face. But, sadly, she didn't hit him, though he found himself wishing she had. He deserved it.

She simply stood up, and she was so serenely quiet that Ichabod found it more disconcerting than if she were screaming vulgarities at him. At last, she spoke.

"So what, you and Ginger Spice out there are just gonna live happily ever after while my sister rots in Purgatory?" she seethed.

"_I'm giving you that happily ever after_…"

He gasped as Abbie's voice cut through his mind.

Jenny looked at him strangely, but apparently decided to ignore his behavior for the moment and absently sat back down. She seemed to be too caught up in her anger, her dark eyes on fire.

"Let me see if I got all the details straight, ok? One, you let my sister exchange places with Katrina in Purgatory and don't try to deny it because Jessica Rabbit, out there, told me all about it. Two, you let Abbie stay there knowing it was what Moloch wanted all along and three, you're now you're perfectly happy to let her stay there forever? Did I hit all the bullet points?" She paused a moment to catch her breath but continued quickly. "Well, no way in hell is that happening. Maybe you've already given her up for dead, but I haven't. I'm getting her back…with or _**without**_ your help."

She pushed up from the chair and looked at him in disgust, arms crossed. "Should I tell the little wifey to come back in now so you two can patch things up? You can tell her it was just a mistake and you weren't really saying you loved my sister…"

Ichabod said nothing. He found himself unable to form words laying there looking into eyes that were so eerily reminiscent of those he loved dearly. He swore he could hear the spark of Abbie inside him keening in grief at the sight even as it tried to stop him from crumbling in despair.

Jenny continued ranting, oblivious to his pain. "You know, for a while there, I thought maybe you really did love her. I thought maybe Abbie finally found somebody who cared about her and would put her first, but I guess I couldn't have been more wrong. You're just another in a long line of selfish bastards after all. I'm starting to wish I never found you, after all."

She waited a few beats and then made a sound of derision and turned, storming from the room.

"I, too, wish you had not found me," he said gently, before she reached the threshold, his voice raspy.

She stopped – barely – but didn't turn to look at him. He could tell she wanted to bolt from the room – the same way her younger version wanted to in Purgatory. Neither version seemed to want to be in his presence for very long. He could assign no blame to such a sentiment.

"I do not wish to see Katrina at this time," he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I will not try to convince you of my feelings for your sister, but I would like to assuage your fears about my treatment of her. From the moment she volunteered to stay and every moment after, I have regretted my willingness to let her do so. I have cursed myself a thousand times over and will never be able to repent for such a sin. I told her as much. I betrayed her and do not deserve forgiveness. I believed that my punishment was death and to spend eternity in a black void being forever reminded of my transgression. I do not deserve her friendship or love…but…I do…love her…more than I can ever express. I came to the realization while I was in Purgatory with her. I'm sure I knew it subconsciously for some time now, but I confessed my feelings to her while I was with her. If there is a way to rescue her from the prison I put her in, then I will do everything in my power to do just that. Even if it means I must stay there in her stead. That is a price I will gladly pay for I fear I will not be able to continue without her."

Jenny turned and looked at him in complete shock.

"What if the only way is for Katrina to go back?"

Ichabod did not hesitate. "Then she will return. In any event, your sister and Katrina were only supposed to exchange places temporarily."

Jenny made a disbelieving snort, but he was certain that she was perhaps at least starting to doubt her earlier verdict about him.

"I'll believe that one when I see it." She turned again, to leave.

"A request, Miss Jenny?"

She stood, waiting, one eyebrow raised.

"Do you still retain possession of the Lieutenant's 'smartphone'?" he asked softly.

Jenny immediately stuck her hand into a pocket of her vest and pulled the phone out. "Yeah, why?"

"May I please have it?"

"There's nothing on it that can help us, Crane. I already checked."

"_Please_…" he begged, his voice thick with tears and pain.

Jenny shrugged and handed it to him. "Okay…here. I'm going to go and get rid of Red. You get dressed and when I get back, we're sneaking you out of here pronto. We can't afford to waste time while you '_recover_'."

Crane nodded weakly, looking down at the phone reverently. "Physically, I am quite well, Miss Jenny."

She nodded, but looked at him strangely - as though she didn't quite believe him. "Great…"

"Thank you for finding me," he said, but when he looked back up, she was already gone.

It was then that he realized he had not even bothered to ask how Katrina had managed to escape the Horseman – for she obviously had – and he wondered if it were possible to sink any lower into the murky depths of selfishness. It seemed he could not do right by either of the women he had ever professed to love.

Crane looked back down at the phone and after a few failed attempts, pulled up Abbie's text messages. He quickly found one of the last ones she sent to him.

It said, "_See you soon, Crane_." He looked away, his arms yearning to hold her in a fierce embrace, as he remembered their soft and quiet goodbye in Purgatory and Abbie's ultimate sacrifice. The image of her being held up by Moloch threatened at the edge of his mind, but he did his best to push it away and picture her under the bleachers of the baseball field, as she had asked, but omehow, he just felt like he was deceiving himself. She was not sitting under bleachers in the midst of a summer day watching a baseball game. She was being tortured by a demon in a place as close to Hell as he had ever seen and she was there because of him.

He turned from the phone and looked into the mirror in his hospital room. It was directly across from his bed as though waiting for him to gaze into it.

Suddenly, he felt an unnatural breeze lift the hair from his neck and the mirror fractured, revealing Abbie sitting at the kitchen table of the dark dollhouse. A solitary tear ran down her cheek. Behind her, he saw the shadow of Moloch on the wall and heard a song playing in the background. It was a song he had never heard before and yet some of the words were familiar to him.

"So love me tonight…Tomorrow was made for some…Tomorrow may never come...For all we know…"

It was the song she had referenced to him in Purgatory. "'Tomorrow was made for _some_,' she had said. The memory chilled him and he shuddered. Had she been foretelling her own death? Preparing him for it?

The Abbie in the mirror smiled sadly then and raised her hand in an apparent final gesture of farewell. She brought her fingers to her lips and kissed them, then placed them above her heart. Ichabod watched in equal parts of grief and horror as Moloch's shadow advanced, growing larger against the wall. Abbie seemed to sense his presence and looked behind her for a moment. When she turned back, her smile had been replaced with a look of sheer terror. She reached out to Ichabod, as if begging for help, but before he could find his voice to call out, the mirror broke all the way and the pieces blew back into its solid form.

Crane opened his eyes, and found that he was shaking. He looked again at the message on the phone.

"See you soon, Crane."

He gently stroked the phone's screen, his hand trembling. "I'll miss you, always and love you, forever…" he said brokenly, echoing her gossamer goodbye. He turned to look out the window and a tear streaked down his cheek.

When he had come to understand his feelings for her in Purgatory, Ichabod had discovered a small hope inside that somehow, he and Miss Mills would both escape and they might have a chance at some kind of life together – however tenuous it might be. During his time with her there, that hope had lived inside him, thrumming with life, its feather's bright and resplendent with the certainty that somehow, they would get that opportunity.

Ichabod couldn't have known that his hope would never take flight or see the light of day, even though perhaps, Abbie had. Nor could he have known that it would die a lonely death, perched on the remains of his spirit, waiting for a day that was never to be.

Was this what giving up felt like, he wondered? Surrendering? Admitting to failure? It felt unclean and ruined – the way the pristine snow looks after it had been trampled by horses and men heading off to war. It was an unknown emotion to him, for he had never in his life given in to defeat before.

Abbie's face filled his mind again and he felt a surge of pain and anger flood his body. Wincing, he ripped out the strange tubing that had been inserted into his arm and threw the covers off of himself, pushing unsteadily to his feet. Even though Abbie believed herself lost to the mortal world, it did not make it so. She had told him once that "there is always another way." He decided then that he could not stomach the taste of defeat and he would do whatever it took to find that other way and save Abbie. And then he would find Moloch and kill him for his transgressions against her.

Walking with an uneven gait to the window, for his muscles were still sore and cramped, he held onto the frame for support and looked out at the woods beyond the hospital. They were dark and heavy with mist and reminded him too much of the woods beyond the dollhouse in Purgatory.

He spoke softly, his breath fogging up the window and blurring the woods into strange shapes and shades of black and grey.

"Hear me, Moloch and know that this will not stand. I will not yield and I will not let you do this to the one I love. 'Haste me to know't, that I, with wings as swift as meditation or the thoughts of love, may sweep to my revenge.'"

Ichabod focused on nothing but repeating the last sentence over and over – his new mantra – until he dove deep into himself where he found the remains of Abbie's spark. It pulled him close – the way he knew she would if she were there with him – and filled him with comfort. For a few precious moments, he was able to feel as though they were together again and drew strength from that union as he had in the past. He knew he would need all the strength he could muster, for there was a battle coming: a battle for Abbie's soul.

The mantra became almost a meditation or prayer and he went even deeper inside and to a place where all the sounds around him floated away again like soft feathers fluttering against the sky.


End file.
